Chapter 5
The realization of the absolute, sociopathic malice that had occurred in his home cemented itself in Damon’s calculating mind.
He slowly turned his head, his naturally swept-back hair catching the amber light of the chandeliers. He looked directly at Iris, ignoring his fiancée entirely.
Damon’s jaw tightened instantly, the extremely short stubble on his face bristling with suppressed, explosive violence. The artistic tattoos on his hands flexed as he gripped the edge of the console. He did not yell. He did not explode. The absolute stillness of his muscular, masculine frame was infinitely more dangerous than any outburst of rage.
"Iris," Damon said, his deep, quiet voice echoing loudly in the dead-silent room.
He paused, a measured, agonizing silence that hung in the bright air like an executioner's blade. He kept his cold, unwavering gaze locked entirely on the terrified housemaid.
"Who put him here?" Damon asked, low and measured.
The question was not born of curiosity; it was a deadly demand for confirmation, dripping with the absolute promise of violent retribution for whoever had orchestrated the cruelty.
The silence in the grand reception room became a physical, suffocating pressure. The dozens of ivory candles flickering inside their tall glass hurricane holders seemed to be the only things moving in the entire, luminous space.
Iris swallowed hard, her pulse racing frantically. She met Damon’s dark, commanding gaze. Her chest heaved rapidly beneath the fitted black fabric of her dress. She knew the extreme danger of exposing the boss's fiancée. She knew the power of the Marsh family, and she knew Celeste’s capacity for vindictive, fatal violence.
But looking into Damon’s eyes, feeling the absolute, terrifying demand for the truth radiating from his masculine frame, Iris found she had no choice. The presence of the mafia boss stripped away her fear of the socialite. He had just physically defended her, stopping her from committing an unspeakable act.
Iris steadied a trembling, ragged breath. She slowly raised her head, her clear eyes blazing with a sudden, undeniable clarity.
"Celeste," Iris stated, her voice quiet but carrying a fierce, devastating conviction.
The admission was a knife to the chest of the entire syndicate. A collective, quiet gasp rippled through the elite guests standing near the velvet seating. The sheer, audacious malice of attempting to burn a living animal in the boss's own home was shocking even to seasoned syndicate members who dealt in violence daily.
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Iris didn't stop there. She ensured every single word reached the ears of the man who needed to hear it.
"After those shoes got chewed," Iris finished, her voice entirely steady.
